


Rock the Cradle of Love

by crazynadine



Series: The man in 8C [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 80's Music, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Anal Sex, Bipolar Disorder, Boys Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shy Ian Gallagher, Smut, billy idol - Freeform, clumsy ian gallagher, ian has a crush, ian's an accountant? how did that happen?, radio dj mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 03:46:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine
Summary: Ian is not the confident guy he used to be. Which probably explains why every time he sees his hot new neighbor, he makes a fool of himself.





	Rock the Cradle of Love

**Author's Note:**

> this is just an idea i had a while ago that i just couldn't shake. loosely based on the video 'rock the cradle of love' by billy idol. i was 8 when the video came out, but for some reason it stuck with me this whole time.

Ian looks around his apartment, taking in the new abstract art he just had delivered. He smiles. He's accomplished a lot in the past few years of his life, and those accomplishments culminated in him buying himself a sleek condo, and furnishing it with all the trappings of an up and coming gay man. Whatever that means. 

His life had not turned out the way he expected it to. Long gone were the military dreams and desire to be a hero. His life had taken a sharp left turn at seventeen, when he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. He had fallen apart in spectacular fashion. Drugs, booze, running away, even prostitution. Flying so high, firing on all cylinders for weeks on end. So many incredible ideas. He was a genius, an inventor, a guru and a spiritualist. Everything made perfect sense, and he could see connections where there once was nothing but confusion. But with that invincible elation comes a predictable, devastating crash. Weeks on end in bed. Suicidal ideations, with ugly vertical scars running down both his forearms to match. It was the darkest time in his life, followed by weeks in the County Psych Ward and an endless stream of trial and error with a plethora of psychotropic drugs. 

But he got through it. He did it. He found his balance again. Sort of. 

His family had rallied around him, and he'd gotten himself back on track. Gone back to school, then on to community college. He had never seen himself being an accountant. Lip was the genius in the Gallagher family. But after his diagnosis, Ian found a certain sense of calm in the order and predictability of numbers. He was no mathematician, but he was good at his job, and it paid well. 

One thing that had fallen to the wayside while he'd been getting his mental health in order, however, was his love life. He hadn't dated anyone seriously in years. 

He'd had a chaotic whirlwind of a relationship with a neighborhood boy that lasted years when he was a teenager. Jarrod had been fun. But he had also been closeted and mean and fickle. He ended up marrying a hood girl, getting her pregnant, then going to jail for ten years for fucking bank robbery. Ian had been inconsolable and promised himself he'd never again get involved with someone who saw him as nothing more than a secret fuck. 

Ian had sworn off south side boys after that. Once he'd gotten his degree and his new cushy office job, he left the neighborhood and the lifestyle behind, only returning once a week for Sunday dinner with his siblings. 

He's dated since then. Had a few guys he could have called his boyfriend, but no one that really made a lasting impression. 

He's not lonely. Not really. He's got his work friends, his family, and his Grindr hookups. He doesn't need anything else right now. He's twenty six, for fuck's sake. There's no rush. 

He likes his condo. It's in a well maintained, prominent building on the north side. His neighbors are a veritable who's-who of Chicago society. 

Take his neighbor in 8C...

Mickey Milkovich. 

Ian may have a bit of an obsession with the man across the hall. It's not his fault, and he's not alone. 

Mickey is one of the city's most popular radio DJ's. He's Chicago famous, and syndicated all over the country. His show is a mix between current rock and classic hits. And even if Ian didn't love the music, which he does, he'd be a fan of the show. The online episodes, specifically. The ones with the camera in the studio. 

Ian had found himself planted in front of his laptop countless nights, watching the DJ talk about everything and nothing in between songs. The sound of his voice was hypnotic. What was that phrase? A face made for radio? Well that was not the case at all with Mickey. God bless the internet, because the face that went with that voice was flawless. Those piercing, ice blue eyes, that ghostly pale skin (probably marked so easily) and that contrasting jet black hair. It was enough to drive Ian mad. 

It didn't hurt that Mickey was south side. Ian was drawn to his familiar mannerisms, the way he carried himself on camera and over the air waves. He had swagger that translated through all versions of media, and Ian was hopelessly smitten. 

Six months into his obsession, Mickey shared with his fans that he was gay, and Ian's life was officially over. He was ruined for all other men. Which was ridiculous, seeing as how Ian had never even see the guy in person. 

Ian was a fangirl. No other way to put it. 

Two weeks ago, Ian's nosy neighbor Cal had informed him that Mickey had recently bought a condo across the hall from him. Ian had no idea, having been spending long hours at the office. Cal knew everything that went on in the complex. He was the building's resident busybody. 

"I'm telling you, Ian." Cal had said, while they both stood in front of their open mailboxes, pretending to look at their bills. "That hottie lives right across the hall from you now. You need to bake that sexy motherfucker some cookies, and hand deliver that shit." 

Ian had chuckled nervously, going through his junk mail. He chanced a glance at his neighbor, who was giving him a sinfully dirty smirk. 

"Honestly, Cal. What would your husband say if he heard you talking like this?" Ian teased. 

"He's just as hard for that man as I am. Any red blooded queer would drop to his knees on command for that specimen." Cal laughed, tucking his mail under his arm as he started walking back toward the elevator. He walked backwards the whole way, making kissy faces and obscene hand gestures to Ian the entire time. 

Ian's face had burned bright with secondhand embarrassment. 

But... on the bright side...

Mickey was his neighbor now. 

Holy shit. 

He thanked a god he didn't believe in for his incredible luck, while simultaneously cursing said deity for turning him into such a shy fucking loser. 

If only he'd met Mickey before he got sick. He'd have been bold and fearless. Sure of himself and his ability to get what he desired. Confident. He used to be able to flirt with any guy, and get them. Hell, he even danced at a gay club for months. He used to think he was sexy. He used to be a cocky fucker, if he was honest with himself. 

But he was none of those things anymore. Now he was damaged. He was uncertain, self conscious, and nervous all the time. His meds made him stumble over words, or lose his train of thought mid-sentence. His disorder had robbed him of all his self confidence, and he was left a shadow of his former self. 

So he stayed away. 

He'd kept his distance, but saw the other man around the complex quite frequently. 

And he made quite an impression. Unfortunately.

He saw him in the elevator one day not long after Mickey first moved in. It was late on a Friday afternoon, and Ian was coming straight from work. Ian had got to the elevator just as the doors were squeezing closed. He threw his hand in between the doors, sighing in relief as the doors shot back open. He pushed through and into the elevator only to see Mickey standing there, immersed in his tablet. Ian gaped at him, like an idiot. He just stared. As the elevator lurched upwards, a thought occurred to Ian. This was his chance. This was his opportunity to talk to Mickey, start some kind of conversation. To maybe get to know his super hot neighbor a little better. The elevator hitched and groaned, and Ian rubbed the back of his neck trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make him sound like a creep or a moron. The elevator kept moving. Up, up, up. Ian was running out of time. Mickey was just standing there, looking casual and unconcerned. And sexy as fuck. Mickey must have felt him staring, because just the elevator hit the sixth floor, his eyes flicked up from his device and he shot Ian a sly smile, and Ian had grinned back sheepishly. He opened his mouth to speak, still unsure of what he was going to say. But he had to say something. He couldn't let this opportunity go. 

Just as the first syllable slipped past his lips, the doors of the elevator opened and Teddy, Cal the nosy neighbor's husband clamored on, weighted down with an endless amount of shopping bags. He wedged himself in between Ian and Mickey, giving Mickey a blatantly heated once-over, and immediately started blabbering to Ian about a sale at Macy's that he just went to with Carla in 6F. Ian gave him a brittle smile, politely listening. He could hear Mickey chuckling on the far end of the car, and watched with a twinge of regret as Mickey hustled out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened. Ian was stuck with Teddy, helping him carry his bags to his apartment at the end of the hall. Ian kept looking back over his shoulder longingly as Mickey walked in the opposite direction. It's not like he knew what to say anyway, or that Mickey would be interested in listening, but it still felt like a missed connection. 

Then there was the time Ian ran into him at the gym in the basement of the complex. It was a couple weeks after the elevator incident. Ian had seen Mickey in passing around the building, but still hadn't spoke to him. It just never felt like the right time. (or Ian was a huge fucking pussy now, it was a toss up, really...) 

Ian was the only one in the gym. It was well past eleven on a Tuesday night. Ian worked from home on Wednesdays, and always came down to the gym late Tuesday night, because the place was always deserted.

Ian was on the treadmill, headphones in, feet pounding on the track over and over. He was covered in sweat, lost in his own head, when Mickey sauntered in with that wide-legged swagger that made Ian hot all over. He didn't notice Ian when he first came in, or if he did, he made to attempt to greet him. 

Mickey walked past the treadmills and the elliptical machines, heading straight for the weights on the opposite end of the room. He dropped down onto one of the bench presses and laid on his back, arms going up to grip the bar suspended above his head. Ian's mouth fell open as he pulled his earbuds from his ears, letting them hang forgotten around his neck. Mickey slowly started raising and lowering the bar, grunting softly with effort. 

God, those noises. Mickey sounded so good. The muscles in his arms bulges under the heavy weight, and Ian's mouth watered. The bar looked like it had a pretty substantial amount of weight on it, but Mickey was having no trouble at all. Ian continued his run well past his normal time, watching Mickey go from one piece of equipment to the next. He couldn't stop gawking if he tried, feeling like a demented voyeur the entire time. 

Ian's mind started to wander. If Mickey's arm muscles were that toned and strong, what did his abs look like? His back? His thighs? His ass? Ian was already well acquainted with the curve and swell of Mickey's ass, blatantly staring at it whenever the opportunity arose. God what Ian wouldn't give to be balls deep in that...

Just as Ian was losing himself in the fantasy, Mickey stood, grabbing up his water and making his way over toward the sauna, and caught Ian ogling him like a total pervert. 

Fuck. 

Mickey had smirked, eyebrows raised as his eyes raked down Ian's sweaty form. Ian blushed hard, even through the flush of his workout. He felt like a total sleaze, but Mickey didn't seem offended. He kept his eyes on Ian the entire way across the gym. 

Now. Now was the time for Ian to make his move. Do something cool that may entice the other man. So, of course, Ian had waved like an idiot, almost losing his balance and face planting on the track. His feet flew out behind him and he had gripped the side rails, desperate to regain his footing. He had flailed for the safety key, pulling it out of the treadmill just as he went flying off the track, his back colliding with the wall hard. 

Mickey had merely shaken his head, covering his mouth with his tattooed hand to hide his laughter as he turned his back on Ian and wandered into the sauna. 

Ian had nearly died of embarrassment. 

And finally, then there was the day on the roof terrace, which had to be the most mortifying encounter of them all. 

Ian had opened the door to the terrace, totally engrossed in his tablet, reading important emails for work. He'd come up to the terrace for some sun and fresh air. He loved it up there. The views of the city skyline were incredible, and hardly anyone was ever up there in the middle of the day. It was another 'work from home' day for Ian, so it was the perfect opportunity to enjoy the scenery in quiet solitude. He had just made his way outside, not even bothering to look up as he made his way over to his favorite chair on muscle memory. 

He'd been so absorbed in what he was reading, taking sips out of his coffee mug as he went over some important numbers for a a meeting that Friday, when his ankle caught on one of the lounge chairs by the deck. Ian had gone careening forward, coffee splashing all over him and the chair. 

"What the fuck!" a voice bellowed from behind him. Ian had spun on the spot, empty coffee cup dangling from his fingers. 

There was none other than Mickey Milkovich.

He had been laying in the chair that Ian had stumbled over. 

Of course he was. 

Ian just stood there, gaping at him. His mouth open to utter a rushed, sincere apology. But nothing came out. His throat closed up and his face got hotter and hotter. The harder he blushed, the more embarrassed he got. 

His mind had been filled with nothing but and endless chorus of 'Fuck.' 

"Dude, you fucking burned me." Mickey spat, standing from his chair and holding his arms out for Ian to see the damage he'd inflicted. 

Mickey's bare chest was covered in raised, red splotchy marks. His hair was wet and his khaki shorts were stained with Ian's dark roast espresso. 

Ian was mortified. 

"Hello?" Mickey had said, closing the distance between them. "Anybody home?" he waved a hand in front of an apparently catatonic Ian's face. When Ian still did nothing more than continue to silently gawk at him, Mickey huffed, throwing his hands up in the air and turning on his heel. He stomped off the terrace and back into the building, cursing to himself the whole time about the 'mute asshole' who spilled hot coffee all over him. 

"Nice going, Ian. Real fucking smooth." Ian had muttered to himself once he was alone, dropping his mug to the table in favor of smacking himself in the head. 

He was a fucking idiot. 

That was four days ago. And Ian had avoided Mickey like the plague since then. He couldn't face the other man ever again. He had made an utter fool of himself on no less than three occasions now, and the damage was permanent and irreparable. 

Ian was hopeless. If he ever had a snowball's chance in hell with the sexy DJ, he'd shot it completely to hell with his own ridiculous, embarrassed fumbling. 

Ian sighed, standing from his couch. It was Friday night, and he had no plans again. He'd toyed with the idea of calling Lip, but he wasn't in the mood for his brother's particular brand of sarcastic bullshit. 

Ian could go out the the bar, pick up some clueless young twink. Impress him with his condo and his top shelf whiskey and get a decent fuck out of it. But Ian was losing interest in random anonymous sex. Grindr was a good outlet for his sexual frustration, but Ian was hoping for something more meaningful.

Not that he'd find that either, holed up in his apartment, watching Mad Dog Mick on internet radio. 

Ian wandered over to the kitchen just as his favorite radio program started, starring the guy he was totally not obsessed with, thank you very much. The laptop plays ZZ Top as he pours himself a generous whiskey and flops back down on the couch. 

He's just gonna sit for a minute, think about what he wants to do tonight. He's not going to stay in listening to a reruns of Mickey's show on a Friday fucking night. 

Yeah, he's just gonna sit, have a drink, then he'll get up, get dressed and go out. Even if he doesn't find someone to get him off, at least he'll be able to tell his asshole brother he left the house this weekend. 

He drinks his drink, as ZZ Top gives way to Guns n Roses. He makes himself another as Mickey's voice lulls him further into his semi-intoxicated, floaty head space. 

He'll get dressed in a bit. 

One more drink. One more song. One more segment. 

He drinks that drink, savoring the biting flavor and the way it makes his chest warm. He falls back against the couch just as Mickey's voice fades out and Lynard Skynard fills the room. 

He closes his eyes, just for a moment....

He jerks awake god knows how much time later to the incessant pounding on his front door. His eyes find the clock, but he can't read it. 

Huh. He must be tipsy. 

He lurches off the couch, stumbling toward the door. It feels like he's moving underwater. He catches himself against the wood frame and looks through the peep hole. 

All he sees is the back of whoever's head. He shrugs, undoing the deadbolt and opening the door. 

Standing there, looking like sex on a stick is the one and only Mickey fucking Milkovich. 

Mickey gives him a predatory grin, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning up against Ian's door casing. 

"Hey there, Gallagher. I didn't wake you, did I? It's not even midnight yet." Mickey raises his eyebrows, the smirk never leaving his lips. 

"Uh, I, um, must've nodded off." Ian replies jerkily. "Can I help you?" he adds on. He's nothing if not polite, after all. 

"Actually, yeah, if you don't mind." Mickey replies, his eyes wandering from Ian's face toward the interior of his condo. "My wifi's out, and I really need to review this flash drive for work tomorrow. I know it must be late for you office types, but I gotta get it done tonight." he says, his eyes wandering over Ian's body shamelessly. "You'd really be helping me out if you let me use your laptop." he raised his eyebrows, running his tongue along his lower lip. "It'll only take a sec, then I'll be outta your hair." 

Mickey watched Ian, waiting. Ian watched him back, utterly at a loss. 

Things like this don't happen to him. 

But he sure as shit wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by. 

"Yeah, of course." Ian smiled, feeling more confident than he has in ages. Maybe it was the whiskey, but he was feeling loose and fearless in the moment. This had to be some kind of sign right? 

Or maybe he'd been obsessing over Mickey so much in the past month that he's actually fantasized it into being. He'd been jerking his cock to images of Mickey on his knees for weeks now. 

Being reminded of his perversion while staring at the object of his affection snaps him out of his fugue state. He steps aside and Mickey saunters into his house like he owns the place. 

"Laptop's on the coffee table." Ian says to Mickey's back. "Would you like something to drink? I've got Johnnie Walker." Ian makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing his own glass along the way. 

"Yeah, that'd be great." Mickey replies, dropping himself down onto Ian's couch and pulling the laptop toward him. "You watch reruns of my show?" Mickey laughs just as Ian returns with two glasses full of Johnnie Walker Blue. 

Ian gave Mickey a timid smile and a small shrug. "You're good." he mumbles, like a complete idiot. 

Ian drops his glass on the coffee table, leaning over to gather up his paperwork he's got strewn everywhere. He doesn't want Mickey to think he's a slob, after all. 

"Oh Gallagher, you ain't seen nothing yet." Mickey smirked. He pressed a button on the laptop and the radio show cut off and the apartment was filled with loud, clanging guitars and the voice of....

Billy Idol?  
Rock the Cradle of Love?  
What the hell? 

Ian is so shocked by the sheer volume of the music, he jerks to a standing position, his paperwork going flying in all different directions. Mickey glancing up from the laptop with an amused smirk on his lips. He raises his eyebrows playfully as Ian drops to his knees to gather up his scattered paperwork. He grabs at the papers haphazardly, folding them against his chest. 

"This music is for work?" Ian asks, dropping his paper work onto a side table and grabbing up his drink. He chugged half of it in one go, needing to calm the fuck down. Like, right now. 

"Fuck yeah." Mickey replied, standing up from the sofa and stalking closer to Ian. Ian took a step back, and then another. Mickey kept advancing on him, until Ian's back hit the wall. Ian plastered himself against the wall, knocking one of his expensive abstract art pieces to the floor with a clatter. "The eighties were a good decade for rock." Mickey raised his eyebrows, stepping so close they were chest to chest. "Lemme show you." he looked up at Ian, blatant heat in his eyes, just as the chorus began on the song and the beat picked up. 

Mickey crowded Ian against the wall, and started singing the lyrics to the song. 

"Rock the cradle of love." he croons, hands planted on either side of Ian's head while he keeps him pinned and transfixed. "Yeah, rock the cradle of love. The cradle of love, don't rock too easy, it's true." 

Mickey rolls his hips, just barely grinding against Ian's rapidly filling cock. Mickey smirks up at him, closing the distance between their faces. He's so close, Ian could surge forward and kiss him right now. 

Until Mickey turns on the spot, and suddenly Ian's looking at the back of his head. 

The guitars pick up, and Mickey leans forward, just enough so his perfect ass grazes Ian's pelvis. Ian groans, he can't help it. He hears Mickey chuckle before pressing his ass more firmly against Ian's body. 

Ian's hands reach out on their own, ready to grip Mickey by the hips and really grind his ass, but Mickey turns again the moment he feels Ian's fingers on his waist. 

Mickey grabs Ian by his tie and starts walking them backwards toward the couch. Ian follows, hypnotized, as Mickey continues to serenade him. 

"Cuz love cuts a million ways, shake the devil when he misbehaves." Mickey sticks his tongue out at Ian, waggling his eyebrows playfully as he spins the stunned man around by his tie and shoves him hard. 

Ian lands on the couch with a thud, mouth hanging open, chest heaving. He reaches out for Mickey, feeling suddenly bold, but Mickey dances out of his reach, grabbing up his drink and spinning on the spot, completely ignoring Ian as he rolls his body to the beat. 

Ian shakes himself out of his lust-induced stupor, lurching off the couch and reaching for Mickey again. His hand wraps around Mickey's forearm, and Mickey twists to face him, spilling his drink down the front of his white button up shirt.

"Oh god! I'm so fucking sorry. " Ian yelps, feeling like a total asshole. He never should have touched him like that. Mickey must be so pissed at him now. "Here, let me clean that up for you." Ian stammers, moving toward the kitchen for a towel. 

To his surprise, Mickey lets out a loud, carefree laugh, ripping the shirt from his shoulders and tossing it in Ian's shocked face. Ian can hear the distinct sound of buttons hitting his hardwood floor. 

That sound should not be so enticing. 

Ian peels the wet shirt from his face, stumbling toward the sink in the kitchen as Mickey wanders further into his apartment, shaking his ass the whole way. 

Ian's got his hands in the sink, cold water and detergent on Mickey's super expensive dress shirt, when he hears Mickey call his name from somewhere deep in the apartment. 

Ian's head shoots up, and it dawns on him that Mickey is in his bedroom, while he's on in the kitchen, soaking delicates like fucking moron. 

"Ian!" Mickey bellows from the bedroom. "I didn't come here so you could hand-wash my separates. Get the fuck in here before my dick decides porn was a better option." 

Ian's who body heats up at Mickey's words. 

What the fuck is he doing? He needs to get into the bedroom, and into Mickey as soon as possible. 

He drops the soaked shirt and stomps toward the bedroom. 

He was done being shy. He was done being unsure. He was done being a coward. 

Mickey came here tonight to fuck. That much is clear. And as much as Ian wants to get to know him better, maybe take him on a date, he's not the type of guy to turn down a sure thing. 

And this was a sure thing. 

At least, he hoped it was. 

Ian's having a hard time believing this is his real life. 

He got to his bedroom and stood in the door way, his mouth falling open in shock once more. 

Sure thing it is. 

Mickey was standing on Ian's bed, in his fucking underwear, still dancing to that fucking song that never seems to end. He sways his hips in time to the music, back turned to Ian. Hands up in the air he belted out the chorus. 

"Yeah flesh for your Romeo. Ah yeah baby, I hear you moan." he turned his head, staring at Ian with the lustiest look Ian's ever seen, running a hand up and down the curve of his perfect ass. "It's easy, you know how to please me yeah..."

He turns back around, kicking Ian's blankets to the floor as he jumps on the mattress, running his hands up and down his chest. His eyes fall on Ian and he shoot him a filthy smirk, just as he falls to the bed on his stomach, legs spread eagle behind him. His head shoots back and he starts rolling his hips into the mattress. 

Ian has seen enough. His cock is throbbing painfully in slacks, begging to be set loose on the writhing man before him. 

Mickey has to be interested in Ian, or at least his dick. There's no other explanation for this behavior. Ian is admittedly scared, and incredibly turned on. 

Fuck being timid. Fuck being shy. Fuck being careful. 

He was going in. 

He strides across the floor to the bed, just as Mickey lifts himself to his knees. The song plays on in the background as Ian finally lays his hands on Mickey. He kneels on the bed so they are eye level and pulls him into a biting kiss with a hand tangled in the back of his messy black hair. Ian can hear his heart beat in his ears, but the sound is drowned out by the low groan coming from Mickey's lips. Ian gives his own moan in response, months of pent up sexual frustration pouring into the kiss. Ian slide his free hand up Mickey's thigh, cupping that gorgeous fucking ass as he darted his tongue into Mickey's panting mouth. 

Mickey fisted Ian's hair with both hands, pulling sharply as he kissed him fervently. Ian pulled him closer, hissing through his teeth as Mickey bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Ian made a strangled sound, hooking his hands under Mickey's naked thighs and lifting him clear off the bed. 

Mickey broke the kiss to give Ian an unimpressed glare. "Do I look like the kinda guy that likes to be picked up?" Mickey asked, cocking his head to the side. 

"No." Ian conceded. "You look like the kinda guy that likes to get fucked." he smirked, tossing Mickey onto the bed. He landed with a bounce, and astonished smile splitting his lips. 

Ian has no idea what's gotten into him. He never says shit like that anymore. But he likes it, and he likes what it seems to be doing to Mickey. 

"Well then get to it, you cocky fuck." Mickey laughed, falling onto his back and kicking off his boxers. 

Ian took a moment to admire the view. Mickey, naked in his bed. His gorgeous, hard cock standing proud against his stomach. Chest heaving, skin flushed, pupils dilated. That dark, hungry look in his eyes. 

Ian ripped his shirt off his shoulders, the tattered remains falling to the floor before he shed his pants and boxers in quick succession. He was on the bed and on Mickey before he knew what he was doing. He covered Mickey's body with his own, desperate to feel him everywhere. Mickey's arms came up to hold him in place. The feeling of Mickey's fingers trailing along his spine sent shocks of pleasure shooting down Ian's limbs.

Ian ran his hand down his side, along his thigh before running it back up to cup his ass. 

"Fuck, Mickey. I've dreamed about this ass." Ian moaned, dipping his head down to lick and suck at his collarbone. Mickey threw his head back, gripping the back of Ian's head, fingers tangling in his disheveled red hair. Mickey's fingers dug in, flexing with every lap of Ian's tongue. 

"Dream about doing what?" Mickey whispered huskily in, running his tongue along the shell of his ear. 

"Spanking it." Ian admitted, all shyness evaporating into the heat between their bodies. "Eating it. Fucking it." Ian rolled his hips, grinding their leaking cocks together, earning himself a sinful moan from the man beneath him. 

"Shit." Mickey moaned, tipping his head up to capture Ian's lips again. The kissed frantically for a few moments, groping each other everywhere they could reach. Their tongues met filthily outside their mouths as Ian gripped Mickey's ass hard, palming the flesh greedily. 

Suddenly and without warning, Mickey shoved Ian off him with two hands to the chest. Ian went flying backwards, his back hitting the mattress with a muted thud. Ian stared up at him in stunned wonder as Mickey shot him another dirty smirk before advancing on him. Ian's eyes bugged out of his head as Mickey crawled along the mattress, eyes never leaving Ian's. Ian's breath hitched as Mickey ran a gentle hand along his torso and up his chest. He threw his head back, overcome by the sensation, bucking off the mattress as Mickey pinched a nipple harshly between his fingers. A dark smile bloomed on Mickey's lips as he observed his reaction. Mickey raised an eyebrow, trailing his hands down Ian's body as he backed up along the mattress until he was face to face with Ian's straining erection. Ian lifted his head, watching Mickey's decent until Mickey gripped his cock, stroking it slowly. Ian groaned, his head falling back to the pillows as Mickey guided Ian's dick to his mouth and took him in deep. Ian groaned again, loud enough to shake the walls as Mickey bobbed his head vigorously. The feeling was unlike anything Ian's ever felt. The man was highly skilled.

Mickey swirled his tongue around the swollen head, closing his lips around it and sucking hard. Ian's hands moved to tangle in that gorgeous black hair, but Mickey was up and away before he could move. He sat up on his knees, rolling over and assuming the position. 

Ian sat up, totally overwhelmed by the sight in front of him. 

Mickey Milkovich, on his bed. Head down, ass up. Ian was in heaven. He moaned, couldn't fucking help it. He grabbed Mickey's ass with both hands and dove in, face first. 

"Fuck yeah." he heard Mickey sigh. Ian grinned against his ass as he flattened his tongue and ran it from his balls to his asshole. He dug his fingers into the flesh of his ass even harder as he pointed his tongue and fucked in as deep as he could go. Mickey was making these noises that went straight to Ian's dick. These little grunts and moans, breathy little sighs. Ian ran his tongue in circles before going back to lapping and sucking. "God, that mouth." Mickey moaned. 

Ian growled. It startled him, that primal sound coming from him. But Mickey seemed to like it, if the needy whines slipping past his lips were any indication. 

"Ian, I need you in me, man." Mickey said, voice laced with urgency. 

"Lemme finish getting you ready." Ian said, barely taking his face away from his ass. 

"I've been getting ready for this all night. Hoped you'd be down to bang." Mickey admitted, wiggling his raised ass for emphasis. 

Ian, intrigued, reached up with one hand and pushed a finger into Mickey's wet hole. It slid in easily, with little resistance. 

"You prepped yourself? For me?" Ian asked, taken aback.

"Don't flatter yourself, big guy." Mickey chuckled. "I was flying solo. But you were there in spirit." 

Ian laughed. The implication was not lost on him. Mickey had been thinking of him too. Jerking off to him. Just like Ian had been. He'd been thinking about Mickey nonstop since he moved in. He preened a little inside as he sat up on his knees. 

He grabbed Mickey's hip with one hand. He spit into his own palm and grabbed his erection, sliding the spit along his shaft. 

Mickey looked over his shoulder to watch Ian touching himself. "Don't go easy on me, firecrotch." he goaded, a blinding smile on his face. 

"I wouldn't dream of it." Ian laughed as he lined up and shoved himself in to the hilt in one hard thrust.

"Jesus fuck!" Mickey yelped, falling forward onto his elbows. Ian laughed, running his hand up Mickey's back to curl his fingers around his shoulder. He set a blistering pace, fucking the other man with abandon.  
Mickey moaned, pushing back enthusiastically on every thrust. Ian snapped his hips over and over, completely lost in the hot, tight pressure. 

Mickey had an incredible ass. Ian has been staring at it every given opportunity since the man moved in. It was muscular and round and bouncy as fuck and Ian was losing his damn mind. He paused, ball deep and rotated his hips. Mickey moaned, fucking himself back on Ian's throbbing cock vigorously. 

"Fuck yeah." Mickey moaned. "Knew you'd be a good fuck. Stretch me out so good with that huge fucking cock." His head whipped back as Ian cocked a hand back and slapped his ass hard. Mickey hissed through his teeth, bucking into the stinging sensation. 

A breathless chuckle slipped past Ian's lips as he pounded Mickey into the mattress. 

"God." Ian moaned, his eyes taking in every flexing muscle in Mickey's back. "You are so fucking hot. Take me so good. Knew you would. Fuck." Ian doesn't say shit like that, not anymore, but fuck if it wasn't true. 

Mickey laughed through a moan, throwing a dirty smile over his shoulder. "Less compliments, more pounding." 

Ian laughed, moving his hips faster and harder. 

It was impossibly hot in the bedroom, Ian was covered in sweat and Mickey's whole body was glistening. He almost looked like he was glowing. Ian got lost in just watching him move underneath him. God, he was fucking gorgeous. 

"Ian, I'm gonna come." Mickey moaned, thrusting his hips back over and over, his movements disjointed and sloppy. 

"Fuck, me too." Ian sighed, his hand slipping down to grip Mickey's leaking cock. He started stripping his dick in time with his increasingly erratic thrusts. 

Just then, the headboard got loose from it's mount and started banging loudly against the wall. Louder and louder. It slammed over and over, getting progressively more raucous until it drowned out all the beautiful noises Mickey was making, and Ian's own pounding heartbeat. 

"Mick?" Ian asked, his hips stalling as Mickey looked over his shoulder with an amused smirk. 

"What?" he asked, but it sounded distorted and far away. 

The room started to fade away, and Ian was suddenly surrounded by black emptiness.

He closed his eyes, confused and a little afraid, as the feeling of Mickey's hot skin under his hands started to dissipate like water through his fingers. 

Ian's eyes snapped back open, and he looked around. 

He was laying on his couch, work papers and his half full glass of whiskey sitting on the coffee table in front of him. 

His head whipped around, searching his apartment for any indication of what the fuck was going on. 

His attention was drawn to his lap, where his hard, untouched cock was straining in his sweatpants, a generous wet spot staining the front. 

Ian's heart sank as he moved to sit upright on the sofa.

It was a dream. 

A fucking dream....

Ian groaned, suddenly feeling like he was on the verge of tears.

Of course it was a dream. Nothing that insanely sexy would ever happen to him. Mickey probably doesn't ever even think of him. 

Ian feels like an idiot. He feels the traitorous prickle of tears in his eyes. Fuck. He was not going to cry over an incomplete wet dream. 

Mickey was not interested, and Ian was too shy to ask regardless. 

He didn't feel shy in the dream, though. He wished he could be like that again, in his waking life.

He promised himself in that moment, as he adjusted his painfully hard dick, that he would talk to Mickey the next time the opportunity arose. He wasn't going to be that insecure asshole anymore. He wasn't going to let his doubts, or his disorder hold him back. 

He was going to be the Ian of his dreams. And if given the chance, he'd rock Mickey's world. 

An actual, real life knock on the door drew himself out of his mental pep talk. He pushed his erection down, hissing through his teeth at the pressure. 

Well, this isn't going to be embarrassing at all, answering the door with the biggest boner in history. If it's Lip, Ian's going to punch him, just for his shit timing.

"One second!" Ian called, lurching off the couch and stumbling toward the door. He wrenches the door open, and almost falls out when he sees who's on the other side. 

"Hey there, Gallagher. I didn't wake you, did I? It's not even midnight yet." 

Ian gaped openly. He discreetly reached down and pinched his thigh. The searing pain indicated he was very much awake. 

"Get the fuck in here." Ian ordered, grabbing Mickey by his t-shirt and pulling him over the threshold and into a passionate, biting kiss. 

Mickey smiled against his lips, shoving his tongue into Ian's mouth violently. "I fucking knew it." Mickey muttered against his lips, his fingers flying up to Ian's head to grip his red hair. "Fucking knew you were into me." 

Ian grinned, pulling Mickey flush against his body. God, feeling him in real life was a million times better than in his dream. And that dream was hot as fuck. 

Mickey pulled back, staring at Ian with a mixture of astonishment and endearment. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever make a move."

Ian laughed, pulling Mickey closer as he pushed his tongue deeper into his beautiful mouth. 

If it weren't for that dream, Ian not sure he would have, but fuck it. 

If dreams were coming true tonight, Ian was coming too. And he was dragging Mickey over the edge with him. 

Ian pulled Mickey further into the apartment, closing the door and pinning the shorter man to the wood. He tucked his face into his neck, running his tongue along the tendon there, earning himself an eerily familiar sounding moan. He rolled his hips against Mickey's, feeling his dick swelling against Ian's still hard cock.

Mickey looked down at Ian's tented sweats, then back up into Ian's eyes, that trademark smirk splitting his lips. 

"Been waiting for me?" Mickey laughed, motioning toward Ian's dick. 

"You have no idea." Ian smiled, pulling Mickey back to his lips. 

As he dragged Mickey toward his bedroom, divesting him of his clothing along the way, he decided he would call into Mickey's show tomorrow, and request some Billy Idol.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCZuYS-9qaw : the video, if you've never seen it.


End file.
